


The Sprite and the Stoneman

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe)



Series: The Sprite and the Stoneman [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Non-human, Past Lives, Romantic Friendship, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7996942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you're very lucky, you find that one who both infuriates and enchants you in every lifetime in every universe.  Why does mine have to be such a flirty little chatterbox?  Or... 'trying to answer difficult questions while wrestling with ancient tech'</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sprite and the Stoneman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts).



> For Boffin, just because

"So which is it then?" 

A rolled up ball of paper strikes my shoulder and I turn to see you crouched on my bed, picking at your toe nails with taloned fingers. You grin mischievously, green eyes, with their peculiar white pupils, blinking leisurely. It's the only slow thing about you, and I can't help be hypnotised by the lazy sweep of your eyelashes down and then up. You giggle. I frown.

"None of your bloody hypnotic tricks, sprite. And stop tearing up my notebook!"

"You haven't answered my question." The pout is almost as deadly as the blink.

I sigh and lean back in my wheeled desk chair. I am getting nowhere with the blinking cursor on the decrepit green screen monitor. "I wasn't listening. 'Which' is 'what'? And must you clean under your toenails on the place I rest?"

"Your hide is like stone. It's not like you'll feel a few gritty bits." You inspect your talon and flick something away with a quiet "ewww!" I decide not to ask and instead wait impatiently for you to repeat your original question. 

"Are we angels or demons?"

"Does it matter?" I reply cagily. Esoteric religious debate is not my forte, and I know that once you latch onto a subject your pretty pearly fangs will not let it escape. There are Preceptors for things like this, but I know directing you to a teacher would be pointless. You will piss them off within minutes by claiming to know more than they ever will about everything. You're correct, but that doesn't go down well with stuffy old educators. 

"Of course it matters!" You stretch out your ragged moth-like wings and shake them. A shower of glittering dust joins the toenail scrapings on my bed. "I want to know if I'm supposed to be working hard at salvation, so I ascend into Heaven, or if I'm doomed to party forever in the den of iniquity that is Hell."

"You don't believe in Heaven and Hell. They are pathetic human constructs designed to make them feel better about being vile to each other until they lie on their deathbeds, convinced that if they just say sorry some fictitious father-figure will whisk them away to live out their eternity in glory."

"Yeah but... Hell sounds kind of cool..."

I shake my head and turn back to the infernal machine that is beeping like a demented thing and sending data screaming down a wire to be hammered out onto paper in a series of dots. "Remind me never to complain about the speed of the fucking wi-fi again" I mutter.

My chair shoots backwards two feet and there you are, in my lap, your wings displaying their full shimmering magnificence. They are dazzling, and vibrate with tiny shivers of movement that I can feel through our thighs. I close my eyes and count to ten, because this is another one of your tricksy moves.

"I could be an angel" you pout, biting your lower lip in that way that makes rumbles issue from inside my chest. You lean in closer, putting those warm, full lips within a breath of my cool stone, and flutter your wings just a little harder. "You're purring, Stone Man."

"And you... Are no angel..." I shove you away and you flutter back to my bed, shrieking with laughter and scattering your bloody glittery magic all over me and my floor. I imagine it clogging the hammering dot matrix and sending it to it's sparkly demise. It would be a mercy killing.

Sadly it is far too resilient and continues its piercing cry. 

I decide to leave it to spool out it's printout and move to the bed. You watch me warily. I never come to you. It's always you to me. The dancing sprite to the stone man.

Stretched out on the bed, basking in the streaming sunlight, my dull opalescent grey warms to glowing amber. We are not handsome, you and I. Not showy. "Angels think far too much of their terrible beauty and not enough about their responsibility. They are no better or worse than most other magical beings."

I pull you down to settle against my sun-warmed chest and your wings flop out like a wide cape, covering us both. "Don't ever try to be other than you are, sprite" I rumble. "We are as we need to be, and have bigger dreams to dream... Starting with a half decent laptop and a printer that isn't from the fucking Dark Ages."


End file.
